Being pregnant is physically very draining, and so is giving birth. The first trimester you feel like every bit of energy you possess is being sucked out of you, and it is impossible to replenish that energy because food is disgusting and everything smells bad, except maybe grilled cheese on sourdough. The second trimester isn’t too bad, although it is still hard to sleep, you get tired really easily, and your legs hurt. I don’t know about the third trimester, but all signs point to it being the worst. I don’t think I need to explain why giving birth is physically traumatic, and if you don’t know about it you probably don’t want to.
Now, because Leah was born early I got to skip most of the late pregnancy problems. My biggest issue was pain in my lower legs because I inherited horrible veins. I got to wear compression stockings for that last month. Compression stockings are no picnic in June in Chicago. Plus, I looked like an old lady. Giving birth is also much easier on your body when the baby is small. Leah was a whopping one pound, six ounces. She was big for 25 weeks, but not big by any normal standards. She was delivered breach, which made her delivery more difficult that it would have been if she were head down, but it was not a cause for concern. The point of all this is that while I did go through many of the less pleasant aspects of pregnancy and delivery, it was not nearly as physically wearing as it might have been. As a result I got to go for my post-partum check up after only four weeks, instead of the standard six.
I really wasn’t looking forward to the appointment. Giving birth requires a huge invasion of privacy, and I was not looking forward to being poked and prodded after only one month. Little did I know that the examination would be the easiest part.
I had the earliest appointment of the day, because I wisely called far in advance to make sure I wouldn’t have to sit in the waiting room with a bunch of happy pregnant women, or worse, women with newborn babies. Sitting there with all the pregnancy and parenting magazines was bearable; I had my iPod. Even the weigh-in wasn’t too bad, although I certainly didn’t need to be reminded that I am still five pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight since none of my clothes fit. Nevertheless, this was not upsetting. When my doctor came in looking surprised to see me and asked what had happened, then, that was traumatic.
My Ob-gyn is part of a rotating practice. I hadn’t seen her since I was about 12 weeks along, because I had been meeting the other two Obs at my monthly appointments. On the day of our first ultrasound one of the other doctors was on-call. My primary Ob knew that we had the amniotic fluid problem, since she had called to talk to me after the original diagnosis. However, after that diagnosis we had to transfer to a high-risk specialist for continued care. We also had to switch hospitals. Apparently, whoever was in charge of my care at the other hospital hadn’t sent any information back to my Ob, even though my care had been transferred back. Thanks HMOs and paperwork based records! My Ob had no idea what had happened, and I had to recount the whole story, which I was completely unprepared for. That was very difficult, especially since I was caught completely off guard. I had prepared myself to deal with the appointment physically, but not emotionally.
The physical exam ended up being the least of my worries. In fact, the results were probably the hardest thing to deal with, and again that was on an emotional front. Everything was completely back to normal. It is as though the pregnancy never existed. I felt betrayed by my body. How can my heart be so scarred and my body carry no sign of this pain? I’m sure if some fancy CSI doctor cut me open we could find proof of the pregnancy, but looking from the outside you can’t tell. I realize this is lucky. I would be unhappy if I had stretch marks or a gigantic stretched-out uterus, but in my gut it feels unnatural for my body to be back to normal, when there is no going back for my heart.
Now, because Leah was born early I got to skip most of the late pregnancy problems. My biggest issue was pain in my lower legs because I inherited horrible veins. I got to wear compression stockings for that last month. Compression stockings are no picnic in June in Chicago. Plus, I looked like an old lady. Giving birth is also much easier on your body when the baby is small. Leah was a whopping one pound, six ounces. She was big for 25 weeks, but not big by any normal standards. She was delivered breach, which made her delivery more difficult that it would have been if she were head down, but it was not a cause for concern. The point of all this is that while I did go through many of the less pleasant aspects of pregnancy and delivery, it was not nearly as physically wearing as it might have been. As a result I got to go for my post-partum check up after only four weeks, instead of the standard six.
I really wasn’t looking forward to the appointment. Giving birth requires a huge invasion of privacy, and I was not looking forward to being poked and prodded after only one month. Little did I know that the examination would be the easiest part.
I had the earliest appointment of the day, because I wisely called far in advance to make sure I wouldn’t have to sit in the waiting room with a bunch of happy pregnant women, or worse, women with newborn babies. Sitting there with all the pregnancy and parenting magazines was bearable; I had my iPod. Even the weigh-in wasn’t too bad, although I certainly didn’t need to be reminded that I am still five pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight since none of my clothes fit. Nevertheless, this was not upsetting. When my doctor came in looking surprised to see me and asked what had happened, then, that was traumatic.
My Ob-gyn is part of a rotating practice. I hadn’t seen her since I was about 12 weeks along, because I had been meeting the other two Obs at my monthly appointments. On the day of our first ultrasound one of the other doctors was on-call. My primary Ob knew that we had the amniotic fluid problem, since she had called to talk to me after the original diagnosis. However, after that diagnosis we had to transfer to a high-risk specialist for continued care. We also had to switch hospitals. Apparently, whoever was in charge of my care at the other hospital hadn’t sent any information back to my Ob, even though my care had been transferred back. Thanks HMOs and paperwork based records! My Ob had no idea what had happened, and I had to recount the whole story, which I was completely unprepared for. That was very difficult, especially since I was caught completely off guard. I had prepared myself to deal with the appointment physically, but not emotionally.
The physical exam ended up being the least of my worries. In fact, the results were probably the hardest thing to deal with, and again that was on an emotional front. Everything was completely back to normal. It is as though the pregnancy never existed. I felt betrayed by my body. How can my heart be so scarred and my body carry no sign of this pain? I’m sure if some fancy CSI doctor cut me open we could find proof of the pregnancy, but looking from the outside you can’t tell. I realize this is lucky. I would be unhappy if I had stretch marks or a gigantic stretched-out uterus, but in my gut it feels unnatural for my body to be back to normal, when there is no going back for my heart.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment